


Scarf

by Padfoots_Pawprint



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Reflection, adrien's bday gift, bad daddy agreste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padfoots_Pawprint/pseuds/Padfoots_Pawprint





	Scarf

 

When Adrien turned fifteen years old, his father got him a scarf. It wasn’t a name brand, Gabriel Agreste original. His father’s line was mostly full of dark, chic colours that made Adrien’s hair sit like a halo against the crisp tones. He always felt older than he was when he donned pieces from his father’s fashion line. Years from now, free from the signature, he would feel old whenever he saw them. The scarf, on the other hand, was light and airy and hung from his neck like long hair on a woman; sweet, soft, and loving against his skin.

Natalie gave it to him with a straight face and a tight smile, like the clean line of her suit. She handed Adrien the gift quickly, curtly, before striding back to her desk to pretend that nothing had happened. Adrien turned his birthday present in his hands, reveling in the blue wrapping paper and pink ribbon. The combo was so unlike Gabriel Agreste that he gave it all a once over just to be sure. Still, Natalie had said it was from his father, and Natalie, ever the dutiful secretary, would not dare lie to the son of her boss.

So he opened it, expecting a pack of ballpoint pens instead of a scarf. His father’s gifts over the last few years had been dreadfully dull. After his mother’s disappearance four years prior, Adrien had gotten boring fountain pens each year. Judging from its packaging and relative size, Adrien could have only bet that it would be multiple pens instead as a diluted sort of bonus for turning fifteen. Pleasantly, he had received something blue. He pulled it out, afraid to rip something so precious. The fabric felt so fine and beautiful, a blue like the cloudless Parisian sky. It was smooth against his fingers,and Adrien marveled at the texture and stitch work. It looked refined, handmade, and worked on many times; his father’s latest masterpiece.

He couldn’t know that months would pass before he wore it to a photo shoot and a young, up-and-coming designer (after asking to admire the scarf) would unravel it fully for Adrien to see the delicate name ‘ _Marinette_ ’ stitched into the edge where he would never have thought to look. He wouldn’t anticipate tearing up at the realization that his father had not deigned to make him a scarf personally at all. He would excuse himself, Plagg trying to comfort him as best as a centuries old kwami could, and would half-heartedly marvel the scarf in a new way.

For now, though, Adrien wore it with a misguided pride. Nino and Alya seemed impressed with it once he had stepped out of the car. He did not miss the way Marinette’s face fell when he told them the scarf had been a gift from his overworked father. He didn’t understand that at all, but was so happy about the gift that he disregarded it. Once in class, he got many compliments on the scarf, his heart swelling for a man who had spent the last few years distancing himself from his only child. When Alya and Marinette took their seats, he turned around and grinned at them.

“Isn’t this great?”

“Very,” agreed Alya. “In fact, it looks homemade.” Marinette shot her a sharp look. “Your dad must have _a lot_ of time on his hands.”

“No, he’s quite busy. Which is why it’s so great that he took the time to make me this.”

“I guess you’re really lucky then,” Alya said. “The scarf looks gorgeous.”

“It is. I think it’s officially my favourite piece of clothing ever.”

Marinette flushed at that while Alya laughed. “Good for you. Right, Marinette?”

“Yeah. Your dad must really love you.”

Adrien would apologize to Marinette months after that, his head bowed with the weight of shame in his eyes and pressing at his heart. She would deny it with red cheeks and a pleading stuck in her eyes, but he wouldn’t budge, placing his hands on her shoulders. Marinette would pull him into a hug and he would confess to finding her name in perfect, swirling, silver on his scarf; a signature that matched his hat and his Jagged Stone CD cover. Alya would have confirmed it accidentally, all body language and no words. Still, the guilt that would cling to him would seem to shrink under his friend’s reassuring warmth.

But here, in this moment, four friends reveled in the scarf: one proud, one impressed, one sly, and one swooning.


End file.
